


Murasakibara's Ennui: A Tale of Three Sweets

by bob2ff



Series: Miracles Hijinks [13]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Gen, Introspection, Light Angst, M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-11
Updated: 2014-05-11
Packaged: 2018-01-24 09:07:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1599365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bob2ff/pseuds/bob2ff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Discovering a whole new interest in something you never thought you were interested in can be remarkably disorientating, as Murasakibara finds out after Yosen loses to Seirin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Murasakibara's Ennui: A Tale of Three Sweets

**Author's Note:**

> Written for BPS Challenge 70 (Hobbies).

**_The First Sweet: Umaibo_ **

Maaaaaaaan, he was bored. Murasakibara rummaged through his snack piles, for what was, he felt, the millionth time. Staring at the catalogue of umaibo flavours, which normally never failed to entertain him, didn’t seem to work this time.

He didn’t know why he was feeling this way. After Yosen’s loss to Seirin, he had spent hours walking the streets, trawling through all his favourite snack stores. Comparing discounts, peering into foreign sweets rather than Japanese ones. His research had been fruitful — Murasakibara had discovered whole new stores selling umaibo flavours that he could make repeat visits to.

But his normal hobbies didn’t work. The irritating, constant feeling remained unstaved, a kind of itch that felt _somewhat_ like ennui, but was more like a feeling of not knowing what to do with himself. It _had_ to be boredom — what other feeling could it be?

“Muro-chin.” He prodded Himuro, who was concentrating on the Bball Monthly stats. He had a running bet with Kagami on the Los Angeles Laker’s performance. He had to keep his lead, after all. Kagami now owed him a grand total of 150 _American_ dollars.

“Yes, Atsushi,” Himuro said absently. Hm, should he bet on how many baskets Kobe Bryant would score, or the spread of the points in the next game?

“Do you want to go out and look for snacks?” Murasakibara prodded him yet again. Maybe Murochin could help him find more exciting flavours or umaibo — he had a knack for that. And then maybe doing his favourite hobby, snack-hunting, could help relieve his boredom.

“There’re some Reese’s Cups in my locker if you want some,” Himuro just said. Murasakibara felt irritated, despite himself. Murochin wasn’t even _listening_ to him.

“Maybe I’ll just quit the basketball club,” Murasakibara said. “It’s so boring when it’s not tournament season.”

Immediately, Himuro jerked up. “Don’t even joke about things like that, Atsushi,” he chided, voice suddenly going icy cold. Murasakibara both hated and was exceedingly fascinated by how he could affect Murochin this way, just by saying something like that. 

He had purposely said that to rile him up, too, but now Murasakibara felt at a loss again. He didn’t know _what_ to do with himself. Murochin wasn’t going to be any help, and making him angry only made Murasakibara feel worse, himself.

So he heaved a great sigh. “I’m going out,” he slouched out. He suppressed the urge to turn back to see if Murochin was following. Somehow, he thought, this time he would be on his own. Murochin had turned back to his magazine, but he didn’t seem to be reading it.

 ** _The Second Sweet: Pocky_**  

Murasakibara sat on the train platform, watching the trains pass by. In situations like this, he always felt like catching the first train to Kyoto. Maybe Akachin could tell him what to do — Akachin _always_ knew what to do.

“Atsushi?” there was a tap on his shoulder. Murochin was standing there. Murasakibara blinked at him. “When you said you were going out, I didn’t expect you to come here. What are you doing?”

“Trying to eat my Pocky,” Murasakibara showed it to him. “Chocolate Pocky is normally my favourite, but it somehow doesn’t taste good.”

Himuro raised his eyebrows. In ‘Murasakibara-ese’, that meant a bad situation. “Are you sick or something?”

“No,” Murasakibara stared at the tracks. “I don’t want to play basketball anymore.” 

Himuro sat next to him. Murasakibara offered him a Pocky — now Himuro _knew_ this was serious, if he was sharing. 

“Nothing seems fun,” Murasakibara stared at his Pocky. “And that store that normally sells Pocky just got a new batch of flavours, but I don’t even feel like going to buy them. I don’t feel like doing _anything_.”

Murasakibara was always infuriatingly hard to understand. When he _did_ talk, he talked in a code of snack brands and flavours. People were always impressed when Himuro handled Murasakibara deftly, but what they did not realize was that Himuro always felt lost, too, whenever he dealt with him. It did not help, of course, that Himuro himself still felt a confusing mix of resentment, affection and jealousy towards him. 

“Maybe you _should_ just quit the club, then,” Himuro said. Different from the earlier, stern, stony voice, he just sounded calm. Resigned, even, to the fact that maybe that final loss to Seirin was the tipping point of Murasakibara’s tolerance to playing basketball.

“But even if I stop, it doesn’t mean my chocolate Pocky will taste good again,” Murasakibara waved the Pocky at Himuro’s face.

Himuro was silent for a while. The two of them stared at the train tracks. One of them thinking about what it meant to love something and not even realize it, and the other — well, probably thinking about Pocky. 

Then Himuro heaved a sigh. “You finally know how you feel about basketball, so what’s the problem? That loss to Seirin hurt, but at least you know for sure you like basketball now.” 

He didn’t say Murasakibara _loved_ basketball, even though it was obvious. In some ways, Murasakibara was just as tsundere as the rest of the Miracles (barring Kise, who was the exception to a lot of things).

Murasakibara crushed the packet of Pocky. He didn’t feel like eating it anymore. “Just because I discover a flavour I like doesn’t mean I want to eat it all the time. I like trying different flavours too.”

Himuro smiled at him. “Let’s go and play some basketball, Atsushi,” he said, standing up. Murasakibara stared stonily at him. “I don’t want to.”

Himuro _looked_ at him. Whenever he gave him that _look_ , Murasakibara always felt small, a feeling he _very_ rarely got, for obvious reasons. Murochin had a way that made Murasakibara want to impress him, want his approval, in a way that Murasakibara never felt before. Even with Akachin, he had never desired his affection, only for him _not_ to punish Murasakibara.

“We lost. I don’t feel like playing basketball. I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to do,” Murasakibara insisted. He knew he was being petulant, but he hated that Murochin seemed to act like Murasakibara _depended_ on him to make him feel better. He didn’t need Murochin. He shouldn’t _have_ to need Murochin.

“Fine. I’ll tell Coach that you’re quitting. You don’t have to do a _thing_ ,” Himuro said, walking away. Murasakibara knew he was furious. But that was Murochin — always trying to be calm and collected, the cool, good-looking guy, even when he could be just as petulant and bratty as the rest of them.

Murasakibara had always liked that Murochin never talked down to him. People tended to do that, but Murochin was always kind, not patronizing. This time however, his kindness infuriated Murasakibara. So he threw the packet of Pocky at Murochin. It hit him on the back. Murochin stopped, but didn’t turn to look back at him.

In the evening sun, Murochin’s shadow stretched long and dark, a larger presence that subtly overwhelmed Murasakibara, in a way he rarely felt intimidated by. “Stop taking things out on me,” he said, quietly. “Just because you don’t want to accept the responsibility of loving basketball and actually working on being good at it.” Then he continued walking, not turning back.

Murasakibara sat there for a long while. Right at that moment, he almost wanted to step into the next train. He _really_ wanted to go to Kyoto. He wanted Akachin to tell him what to do, instead of deciding for himself.

But eventually he got up. He didn’t feel like picking up the packet of Pocky, somehow. As he slouched after Murochin, he stepped on the packet. The sharp, crunching sound echoed in the silent, empty station platform.

**_The Third Sweet: Nerunerunerune candy_ **

Yosen’s next practice session was tense and awkward. Murasakibara stood at his usual spot under the net, and refused to move. Himuro weaved all around the court, movements swift and beautiful as usual, and shot baskets, not even blinking when Murasakibara just lazily lifted a hand to stop them.

Himuro just continued shooting. Eventually, some would get in, whenever Murasakibara stopped moving to yawn, or scratch his stomach. Every time that happened, Himuro only attacked more furiously. 

He had bought a new supply of Nerunerunerune candy just that morning, but it hadn't excited him like it normally would. That fact irritated Murasakibara so much, he felt like being cruel that day.

"Murochin, you're never going to get any shots in, unless I let it in," he let out an especially huge yawn. "Stop trying already, will you?"

The sound of Himuro throwing the basketball to the side rang out, loud and terse and disappointed. “Coach, I’d like to be excused,” Murasakibara couldn’t see his face, although Murochin’s voice was tight and bitter, and he could see his fists shaking with the effort not to start a fight. Himuro swept out of the gym without waiting for an answer. 

Murasakibara was strangely disappointed. In a way, he _wanted_ the fight. He _wanted_ to show the futility of Murochin’s effort by crushing him. He _wanted_ not to feel like _he_ was the one giving up, while Murochin still tried and tried, despite their loss.

“I don’t want to play anymore today,” Murasakibara announced, drawling, and left the gym after Murochin.

As he walked through the corridors listlessly, however, he felt something hit his head. It was a single Reese’s Cup. Murochin was lounging on the school roof, peering down at him.

“I should be punching you for earlier, Atsushi,” Himuro said. He hopped off the school roof by sliding down a nearby tree. Even climbing down a tree, his movements were graceful, precise and utterly perfect in form. Murasakibara sometimes thought the contrast between Murochin’s grace and his own lumbering clumsiness was what made him fascinated with Murochin, despite himself.

Murasakibara just shoved the entire pack of Nerunerunerune candy he had gotten that morning into Himuro’s hands.

“These are my absolute favorite sweets," he said. "I don’t want them anymore. Murochin can have them."

He continued, “It takes a lot of effort to eat them, and sometimes that’s a bother. But it tastes so good when you eat it it’s worth the effort.” He peered at Himuro, meaningfully. “I think Murochin deserves this more than anyone.”

Himuro smiled at him. “Are you sure you don’t want them anymore? Maybe you need to try eating them again, and actually try enjoying them properly. Then maybe you’ll find you _do_ like them.”

He pressed the pack back into Murasakibara’s hand. “I’ll not accept this until you’re actually sure you don’t want them anymore.”

Murasakibara blinked at him. “Is it okay if I don’t always want to eat them? It’ll take a while for me to start liking them again.” 

Himuro nodded, his smile the kind one that made Murasakibara glad he was his friend. “As with most interests or hobbies, you can begin slowly.” 

As they walked out the school gates, Murasakibara tugged on Himuro’s sleeve.  “Can we go to Tokyo sometime, Murochin? There are some flavours there that we can’t get here.”

Himuro smiled. “Sure, let me call Taiga. Maybe we can squeeze in a streetball match while we’re there.” 

Murasakibara hummed, absently. He would have seemed disinterested, but then he was eating the Reese’s Cup Murochin had given him. He was eating it with more enthusiasm than he ever had before.

**Author's Note:**

> This is an exercise on symbolism — I hope some aspects of Murasakibara’s ‘language’ was clear enough to get. Always open to hear what you guys think! =)


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